I used to be top dog priority in my house before I went overseas.

I don’t mean in a “I was more important than everyone else in the household.” I was just literally my dogs’ top priority. Any time I went upstairs, there was a scramble of paws on the staircase behind me as my dogs raced me to the top to join me in taking a nap, working on homework, reading a book; really whatever it was, they just wanted to be a part of it. To sit at the foot of my bed and maybe get in a belly rub while they were at it.

One of my dogs died while I was overseas. And when I came back, the other one had clearly had a change in priorities. Dad was now top dog, mostly ’cause he bribed with treats, but also because it was just natural that our remaining dog would be most loyal to those who stayed behind.

Still, it was a strange, small grief of mine to no longer hear the paws on the stairs coming up after me.

Just one of the many small, strange griefs that I have felt while at home.

It’s been such a blessing to be here. To embrace the people I love best. To converse with friends and catch up on their lives. To eat food I haven’t tasted in a while.

At the same time, the changes – some that I knew happened, some I wasn’t aware of – have been splintering my heart just a bit….a heart that was already cracked by goodbyes said in a country across the world.

A friend who moved away and got married.

Two other friends who married while I was gone and whose weddings I had to miss. (All of these marriages were a delight, I’m just sorry to have missed the celebrations).

Detrimental physical changes in the people I love.

Some estrangements and moral compromises in others.

Even small changes in the house I live in – things I wasn’t present for along with talks of my parents moving and downsizing soon.

This compounded with the grief of saying goodbye to students, colleagues, and friends who I am not sure I’ll ever see again.

This and knowing I’m going back and who knows what other changes I’ll miss? That grief of being split into two places – not wanting to miss a moment with either. Wanting to gather all my people close, to keep them safe, but knowing there’s no way that I can. Knowing I’ll have to leave and that the people, places, and things that remain may not be there the next time I return.

The sadness of knowing a season is over along with the joy of finding fulfillment in a new but terribly difficult season.

The tension of trusting God’s plan with the desire to hold everyone tightly in my own two hands, even knowing I’m the worst possible candidate to keep them safe.

That wild uncertainty combined with a deep, immovable faith that God knows all these aches and pains and sorrows…and He will ultimately meet and cure all of them, even if not in this present day and world.

It grieves me.

And all because my dog wouldn’t follow me upstairs anymore.

I found myself crying this afternoon and creeping back up the stairs to see if a nap would help.

And I heard a scrabble of little paws following me up.

Once she got lifted onto my bed, my poor dog found herself licking the tears off of my face, probably overwhelmed with my cuddles. But I couldn’t help but thank God for this kindness. Such a small, seemingly insignificant act, but He knew I needed it today. He was so kind to me, giving me that tiny boost. But really, He is kind and good every day, surrounding me with a grace I don’t deserve. Giving me courage for the great cares of life. Working miracles in ways seen and unseen. Nourishing, correcting, loving, convicting. And, more often than not, bringing delight my way for no other reason than that I am His child. Because “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11). And I didn’t even ask Him this time….He just gave, because that’s the kind of God He is.

There are deep sorrows in this world. But greater hope is found in Him.

There are tiny, splintering griefs in this world. But a thousand more kindnesses He pours out.

And this I know with all my heart, no matter what comes my way: the Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.